


Explosions

by lostresidentevilpotter



Series: What If? [5]
Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, People will die but not Al or Alicia because I'm not totally heartless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 08:17:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20306350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostresidentevilpotter/pseuds/lostresidentevilpotter
Summary: The landmine explodes early, and everything goes south rapidly from there. Set in 5x09. Alicia/Al.Part of a new What If? series I'm doing where I tweak one moment from canon and see what could occur after.





	Explosions

**Author's Note:**

> Like I mentioned in the summary, I've added this to a series after Breathe, since in both works, I change one event and see what could happen from there. So this is set in 5x09, but the landmine Morgan steps on detonates a little early. There is violence ahead.

Al doesn’t know what happens. One minute, everything’s under control. Shit isn’t great, but it’s being handled. Morgan’s foot is on the landmine, but he’s working on disabling it. The next minute, Al’s on her ass, camera nowhere to be found, and she’s covered in blood and guts and fuck knows what else. Her ears are ringing, and she’s pretty sure the only reason she hasn’t been turned into human mush is because John yanked her off her feet by the back of her jacket at the very last moment before the landmine went off.

But Morgan’s a total fucking goner. Al’s clothes – and her hair, face, and neck – can attest to that. The landmine fucking exploded, and based on the look on Luciana’s face, it’s all on camera. The people they want to help – the people this tape is meant for – will get to see Morgan die during his noble quest to help some woman that doesn’t even want to leave her house to get help for her asthmatic son.

In that moment, as the shock’s still beginning to wear off, Al realizes this tape isn’t going anywhere. Luciana continues to film, slowly turning it from the spot where Morgan had been standing to where Al’s seated in the dirt.

“What in the _fuck _just happened?” Strand asks, but no one answers him. Luciana continues to roll, capturing Al on her ass with John lingering behind her, having just saved her damn ass from being blown to bits like Morgan was. Al supposes it’s lucky Morgan took the entirety of the blast. All of her limbs are intact thanks to him – and thanks to John’s quick thinking. But God, she’s probably never going to be able to close her eyes again without seeing _that_.

“Al,” Luciana whispers. Her hands tremble violently, and all the footage she’s getting of a blood-soaked Al is incredibly shaky. “Are you okay?”

“Fine, I think,” Al grunts. “I’m pretty sure none of this blood is mine.”

“We have to get out of here,” Strand says, and it’s the smartest thing anyone has said all fucking day. Al manages to nod, but she stays put. She’s afraid to stand up. Afraid to walk. Afraid to move. Afraid to _breathe_, though she has no choice but to keep sucking air into her lungs, hoping it’s not enough to set off another landmine.

“Did – did something happen?” that woman – Tess? – calls from inside, through the front door. She doesn’t even open the fucking door to see that Morgan’s been utterly decimated by her stupid husband’s fucking landmines.

“Yeah, something fucking happened!” Al yells.

“Okay,” June says, holding her hands out. June, though, doesn’t move either. Her feet stay firmly planted where they’re at, maybe ten feet behind Al and John. “Let’s calm down.”

“_Calm down_?” Al exclaims. “Morgan was just fucking blown up! I’m the only person here wearing him! I think I have the right _not _to be calm!”

“No, June is right,” John says gently. He bends down to pat Al on the shoulder. At the same time that he changes course, deciding not to touch all the gore covering Al, Al ducks out of the way of his hand. “We need to take it easy,” John adds.

“Did you not hear what I just said?” Al says. Her voice is oddly shrill – almost hysterical. “Jesus! I’m _wearing _Morgan! How am I supposed to take it fucking easy?”

“Oh my God,” Tess says from inside the house. “Morgan’s dead?”

“The landmine went off while he was standing on it!” Al shouts. “Of course he’s dead!”

“We need to get her out of here,” John says. Al knocks his hands away from her, thwarting his attempt to get Al to stand up.

Al shakes her head. “No. We don’t know how many more of those things are around here. I’m not moving an inch until the husband comes back.”

Al looks back at Strand, then at John, June, then Luciana. She ignores the camera, as uncomfortable as its presence suddenly makes her.

“I think if he was coming back, he’d be here by now,” Strand says quietly.

Al’s lips part as she tries to think of a proper response to that, but she gets distracted by the taste of blood and unceremoniously spits off to the side. It doesn’t exactly get rid of the metallic taste in her mouth, but it’s better than doing nothing.

“So who wants to try to set off the next landmine?” Al asks wryly. She runs her hand through her hair and comes back with a handful of thick blood. She makes a face and attempts to flick it from her hand while trying (and failing) not to think about just how much blood she’s got on her.

“Now’s really not the time for smartass comments, Al,” June chastises.

“There’s never really a good time for smartass comments anymore, is there?” Al says. “But here I am, still making them.”

“Look, maybe Alicia found him – the husband. Ben?” John says hopefully. “Maybe she’s on her way back right now. We won’t know until she gets here.”

“I mean, you could radio her,” Al points out. “But I bet you the radio’s in the truck, and I don’t think any of us are too eager to go get it, since we’re in the middle of an active minefield. Am I right?”

Since Morgan blew up, no one has moved an inch. Especially Al, but she notices that none of her friends have taken a single step in any direction. They’re all rooted to the spot. Al figures most of the landmines have actually gone off by now, but realistically, there’s a chance there’s at least a couple more hidden around here somewhere. And she’s not going to be the one to find them.

“We’ll figure out a plan,” June assures Al.

Al scoffs. “Right. A plan. Does it involve setting off another landmine? Because count me _out_.” She looks to Luciana, weakly gesturing toward the camera. “Shut that fucking thing off, will you? All of this footage is useless now. Morgan’s dead.”

“It’s not useless –” June starts to argue, but John shoots her a look, and she falls silent.

“Alicia’s on her way,” John says. “So everyone just stay calm, alright? Alicia will be here soon.”

“And what’s Alicia going to fucking do?” Al snorts. “Dismantle all the remaining landmines after she locates them all by using her landmine-sniffing superpower?”

“Alicia’s good at getting out of tight spots,” Strand says.

“This is a little more than a tight spot, don’t you think?” Al replies. She spits into the dirt again and swipes at the blood that’s beginning to dry on her face with the heels of her hands. She’s going to need a _very _long shower later. She bets Grace can make it happen, and if Grace _can’t_, then Al’s jumping into the nearest body of water. But first she has to get out of this fucking minefield alive and with all of her limbs still attached to her body. She’s seen people lose limbs, and she doesn’t want to experience it for herself.

It doesn’t take long for Alicia to arrive. She has a backpack slung over one shoulder, and she’s a little winded, which probably means she fought off a walker without killing it. Not only did Morgan just get himself blown up, but he got Alicia to agree to stop killing. That girl’s going to end up dead sooner rather than later if she keeps that bullshit up.

“What happened?” Alicia asks breathlessly. “I got the – the stuff. You know. For the kid. Where’s Morgan?”

“Dead,” Al answers harshly. No point in easing Alicia into it. It’s like only then that Alicia notices Al’s drenched in blood.

“Is that –?” Alicia asks faintly, motioning toward Al.

“Yes,” Al says. “And we can’t move, or else we might set another one off. I don’t know about all you guys, but I want to keep my arms and legs where they are, you know?”

“Just – just stay where you are,” Alicia says. She carefully sets the backpack down next to the truck. Each step she takes is deliberate, but she’s outside of the fencing still. She’s safe – as far as they know, at least. Tess continues to talk, but Al completely blocks the sound of her voice out. One, her ears are still ringing, so she can only focus on one voice at a time, and right now, Al’s attention is entirely on Alicia. Two, as far as Al is concerned, Tess is the reason Morgan stepped on a fucking landmine in the first place, so Al is done listening to her. She still won’t even crack the front door open.

Alicia sheds her denim jacket, draping it over the side of the truck bed, then rolls the sleeves of her shirt to her elbows. She exhales shakily but prepares herself for the worst then steps beyond the fence.

“What are you doing?” Luciana demands. Alicia doesn’t stop walking, slowly, carefully. She stays close to the established craters, away from areas that seem too open, too undisturbed. “Alicia!” Luciana hisses.

“I’m getting Al and John,” Alicia says. “I mean, someone has to, right?”

“I told you Alicia’s good at getting us out of tight spots,” Strand says smugly.

“You didn’t mention sometimes she takes reckless courses of action,” June mutters.

“Please shut up,” Alicia says. “I need to concentrate.”

Al gapes at Alicia as she calmly makes her way over, planting her boots close to the crater left by the landmine that killed Morgan. Al peers up at Alicia, at the confident look on her face, at the lock of hair hanging free from her ponytail. Alicia holds both her hands out, and Al can’t do anything except take them in her own and let Alicia haul her to her feet. John seems maybe a little offended that Al accepts Alicia’s help instead of his, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Just follow me,” Alicia says, like this is the easiest thing in the world. Like they aren’t navigating a fucking minefield. Every step Alicia takes, Al follows to a tee, John on her heels as well. Alicia’s boot touches the earth, then Al’s, then John’s. Over and over, until they’re at the edge of the minefield with Strand, June, and Luciana. “I don’t want to know how you ended up so close to the house, do I?” Alicia asks, exhaling heavily.

Al winces. “I ran after Morgan. John ran after me.” She shakes her head. “It was stupid.”

“Very,” Alicia agrees. “Where’s your camera?”

Al grunts. “Gone, probably.”

Alicia nods. “Wonderful.” Alicia makes a face and wipes the blood that had transferred from Al’s hands onto hers off on her pants. “You need to clean up,” Alicia tells her.

Al smiles sardonically. “Thanks.”

Alicia smirks. “You’re welcome.” She turns to the others. “Now what?”

“We’ve got the kid’s medication,” Strand points out.

“Now we just gotta get it to him,” John says.

“You want to navigate a minefield?” Alicia questions. “It’s a lot harder than it looks.”

“Not if we stick to your path,” June says.

“And what was my path?” Alicia asks. “Because I wasn’t paying close enough attention. I was more worried about not getting Al and John blown up, too. Losing one person is enough for today.”

“Here’s an idea,” Strand says, putting his hands on his hips. “We take the medication and –” He mimes making a free throw in the direction of the porch. “Just chuck it.”

“And if we miss?” June questions. “If we set off another mine with it?”

Strand shrugs. “Then we tried. Oh well. Morgan’s not here to serve as our moral compass anymore, is he? His morals got him blown the fuck up.”

“If we keep talking about Morgan getting blown up, I’m going to throw up,” Al warns. “Because I’m still wearing him.”

June sighs and shakes her head. “Alicia, take her back,” June instructs. “We can handle this. Get Al cleaned up.”

“You sure?” Alicia asks.

“She’s sure,” Al answers. “Let’s go.”

Al leads the way to the truck, and Alicia snatches her jacket off the truck bed and flings it through the open window onto the passenger’s seat. “You ride in the back,” Alicia says before Al can climb inside. “You’re all covered in…Morgan.”

“I was serious about throwing up.”

Alicia scoffs. “Then throw up. I know I would have by now.”

“You don’t seem too concerned about Morgan being dead,” Al says. “Are you, like, the strong silent type or something? Acting all unaffected until you’re alone in bed?”

Alicia rolls her eyes.

“Is that where you do all your crying?” Al teases. “In bed?”

Instead of answering, Alicia seizes a fistful of Al’s bloodied jacket and starts pulling it off of her. Al can’t even protest, at least until Alicia’s fingers start fumbling with the buttons of her shirt.

“Hey!”

“What?” Alicia says, pausing only briefly. “You not wearing anything under here? Because that’d be a stupid move.”

“Who said you could undress me?”

“No one,” Alicia says coolly. “But this is disgusting, so I think you’ll forgive me.”

The bloodied shirt goes into the truck bed with the bloodied jacket, and Al stands in front of Alicia in a tank top that thankfully does not have blood on it. At least, not much. Alicia grimaces when her eyes graze over Al’s face and neck, though, and Alicia shakes her head.

“Just sit in the back,” Alicia says. “I’ll open the window so we can carry a conversation or something. Oh, and if you’re going to throw up, do it over the side, yeah? I don’t want to have to clean that later.”

“Don’t worry,” Al says. “I can handle myself.”

“That’s why I had to go save you from an active minefield.”

Al hesitates. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Well, you can tell me on the way back to camp,” Alicia says. She smiles thinly. “Get in the truck bed, Al.”

“I mean, you can’t make me,” Al says, just to be difficult. Just to push Alicia’s buttons a little. “You’ve taken a no killing oath or something.”

“The first thing I kill again will be you if you don’t get in the damn truck bed.”

Al climbs up into the truck bed and sits with her back against the window, arms resting against her knees as Alicia drives haphazardly back to camp. Alicia swerves to avoid hitting a walker or two rather than just hitting them dead on, which Al would’ve preferred. They make quite an entrance when they reach the caravan’s campsite. All the kids rush over to gawk at Al as Alicia hops out of the truck and makes her way around back.

“Get back,” Grace orders, waving the kids away. “Come on! Shoo!” Grace jogs over as Alicia offers Al a hand down. Al ignores it, jumping down herself just as Grace reaches them. “So what’s this about?” Grace asks. “Where are the others?”

“Still trying to help that woman,” Al says. She bites her tongue about Morgan, looking to Alicia. She’s not sure they should tell Grace – or anyone, for that matter – until everyone else comes back. But then again, maybe Grace should be the first to know. “Look, Grace –” Al starts, but she’s not sure of how exactly to put it into words without sounding like a bitch.

“There was an incident,” Alicia says quietly. She grasps onto Grace’s shoulder, and Grace’s eyes widen. Al can see the cogs turning in Grace’s mind as she tries to put the pieces together, but she comes up empty. “The house is surrounded by landmines,” Alicia explains. “While he was trying to help the people inside, Morgan – he, um –”

“He stepped on one,” Al says bluntly. “And it went off.”

“And that’s…” Grace trails off, pointing a finger at Al’s bloodied face.

“Yes,” Al says gently.

“We’re so sorry, Grace,” Alicia says, squeezing Grace’s shoulder. “I know you two were close.”

Grace shakes her head then clears her throat. “No, I mean – I didn’t know him that well. But, uh, if you could excuse me –”

“Of course,” Alicia says quickly. “But do you think we could get Al a shower?”

“The truck’s set up already,” Grace informs. “It’s ready to go.”

Her voice breaks, and Alicia lets her rush off. Alicia motions toward the truck then nudges Al along. They get the shower fired up, and Al strips off her remaining clothes. She’s half surprised that Alicia doesn’t bolt. Alicia stands at the front of the truck, arms crossed over her chest, as Al washes all the muck away. Dirt and blood and fuck knows what else gets rinsed off, and Alicia waits patiently for Al to finish.

“So you’re just going to wait there, huh?” Al questions. She lets some of the water run into her mouth, swishes, and spits it to the side.

“Yep.”

“The water’s nice,” Al says. She grins to herself. “You could –”

“Now’s really not the time to hit on me, Al.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” Al teases.

“It’s what you’ve been doing since we first got to the factory,” Alicia says, matter-of-factly. “So yeah, that’s exactly what I think you’re doing.”

“My dad always said if you want something, you’ve gotta go after it relentlessly.”

Alicia almost looks over her shoulder to send Al a doubtful look but thinks better of it. The last thing she needs is for Al to catch her staring. That’d just give her more ammo.

“Did he really say that?” Alicia asks.

“Yeah,” Al laughs. “But my dad was an asshole, so take it with a grain of salt.”

Alicia figures Al could be lying. Or maybe Al’s really offering up a tiny little detail about herself. Either way, it’s kind of strange. Alicia almost prefers Al’s persistent attempts to flirt with her over learning fucked up pieces of Al’s past.

“Are you done yet?” Alicia asks.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if I got all the Morgan out of my hair or not.” There’s a pause, and although Alicia can’t see Al’s grin, she hears it in her voice. “You want to come check for me?”

“No,” Alicia says. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Al shuts the water off. “I’ll probably need another shower later,” she tells Alicia. “After one of us finds Grace and tries to comfort her or whatever. I don’t know. I’m really bad at that kind of stuff.”

“Me too,” Alicia says. She grabs the towel off the hood of the car and blindly holds it out in Al’s direction.

“I can’t reach that.”

“Then come get it.”

“Bring it here.”

“Come get it.”

“You’re no fun,” Al laughs. She walks over and snatches the towel out of Alicia’s hand, using it first and foremost to dry her hair rather than wrapping it around herself. Alicia almost makes the mistake of looking _again_ and only catches herself at the last second, right as Al lowers the towel from her head. “Sneaking peeks, Clark? It’s not cool to be a pervert, even after the world ends.”

“Just put some fucking clothes on,” Alicia snaps. “Jesus. We have things to do.”

“I narrowly avoided death via landmine today,” Al says, finally wrapping the towel around her body. Alicia turns to face Al as she adds, “Wouldn’t be the first time, but I think I can sit the rest of today out, given the circumstances.”

Al’s wet hair stands up in all directions. Al grins lopsidedly at Alicia, but Alicia just presses her lips together and searches for something suitable for Al to wear. Alicia finds a pair of sweatpants that probably belong to Strand and a baggy black T-shirt that might be her own. Al doesn’t have any complaints – as long as she’s wearing her own underwear. Once she’s dressed, she tackles her hair, combing it flat, then stands in front of Alicia with her eyebrows raised.

“So?” Al prompts. “How do I look?”

“Fucking fantastic,” Alicia sneers. “Come on. We need to help Grace. The kids are already running wild.”

“June can get them to calm down when she gets back,” Al dismisses. “She likes kids, I think.”

“Can you just help me with this, please?” Alicia grumbles.

“Kids don’t like me,” Al replies. “And these kids don’t know how to fucking listen. It’s amazing they’re all still alive.”

“Not the time, Al.”

“It’s never the time,” Al mutters. She helps Alicia get the kids gathered up around one of the RVs, and the kids begin to settle down. At least until the second truck rolls up, and June steps out. They always go nuts for June. Strand and John linger at the truck, but Luciana hurries over to Al and Alicia, carrying the camera.

“I got all the footage,” Luciana informs, holding the camera out to Al.

“I’m going to destroy that tape if you give that to me,” Al says. “Fair warning.”

Luciana flinches. “I got it,” she admits. “The explosion. I got it on tape.”

Al clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I know,” she says. “That’s why I’m going to destroy it. If we show that to anyone, they won’t want jack shit from us.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Luciana says quietly.

“After what I’ve seen today? Yeah. Maybe you’re right,” Al agrees. “Just keep that camera somewhere safe for now.”

“I’ll put it in the van,” Luciana says. “In the safe. For later.”

Al nods. “Hey, you think you could see if Grace is okay after you take care of that?”

“You guys told her?”

“How could we not?” Alicia asks. “Al showed up covered in his blood. She wanted answers.”

Luciana sighs heavily. “Yeah, I’ll check in on her. In the meantime, you two stay out of trouble, okay? We have big plans for dinner tonight.”

“Well, if it’s something good, let me know,” Al says to Alicia. “I’m going to nap.”

Alicia catches Al’s wrist in her hand before Al can walk away. Al turns back, eyebrows raised, and her eyes drop down to the hand on her wrist. “Is there a problem?” Al asks.

“Are you – are you okay?” Alicia asks warily. “I mean, Morgan got blown up, like, right in front of you. And it’s a miracle you weren’t injured in the blast. _And _you just said it wasn’t your first time surviving a landmine. So are you good?”

Al grins and gently shakes her wrist free from Alicia’s grasp. She figures now isn’t the time to mention that the ringing in her ears is only just now starting to wear off. Or that her heart hasn’t slowed since the initial blast. Or that, even though she’s totally clean now, she still feels like she’s going to throw up even though she hasn’t eaten since last night.

“No,” Al says. “I’m not good. Not at all. But thanks for checking.”

Al winks at Alicia then spins and heads to the van. She passes by Luciana on the way and mockingly salutes her before disappearing into the back of the van and pulling the doors shut behind her. She cherishes the time she gets to spend by herself in the van, since she spends the nights here with at least one other person. More recently, it’s been Alicia, but occasionally it’s Luciana or June or Grace. Sometimes Strand, John, or Morgan. She’s even camped out with three or four kids in the van once, and _that _was a total nightmare. Kids don’t know when to shut up and go to sleep.

Al lies across the seats in the back and tries to slow her heartrate. She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes, forcing herself to breathe evenly. She lied about napping. She’s going to lie here, awake, until dinner when someone inevitably comes to get her – probably June or Luciana, since they’re both always so concerned about everyone eating enough – and then she’s going to lie here half the night, trying not to think about the time she spent in Iraq. Besides, that was a long time ago –

Al nearly falls off the seats when the back doors open. Her hands fall from her face, and she lifts her head to see who the hell’s coming to bother her. Dinner can’t be for another couple hours at least. She’s only been in the van for probably five minutes.

“What do you want?” Al asks as Alicia steps up into the van.

“Ouch,” Alicia says. “I thought you’d be happy to see me, considering you never stop hitting on me.” Alicia cocks her head to the side. “Except for today, I guess.”

“It’s been kind of a weird day, Clark. Forgive me for having other things on my mind,” Al replies. “What do you want?”

“I came to see if you’re alright,” Alicia says, shrugging. “Since you said you’re not.”

“You came to spy on me.”

“Pretty much,” Alicia admits. She drops down onto the seats across from Al, crossing one leg over the other. “And the kids are running wild now that June’s back, so I’m also hiding.”

Al can’t blame her for that, but she just grunts in response. She’s not really up for a chat right now. Not with her heart still hammering in her throat. She forces her eyes to close, but she can feel Alicia staring at her from across the aisle.

“Why are you staring at me?” Al asks.

“You seem a little on edge.”

“I was almost blown to smithereens like our friend, Morgan,” Al says wryly. “Yeah, I’m a little on edge. It’ll pass.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Al pauses. Her eyes open, and she turns her head and stares over at Alicia. “Is that a serious question?”

Alicia hesitates, shifting uneasily. “Yeah? Am I not going to like the answer?”

“Probably not,” Al snorts. “You remember that time we got _really _wasted and –?”

“Yeah, I don’t like the answer,” Alicia cuts in. “Is there something _reasonable _that I can do?”

Al thinks for a moment. “No.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

Al considers the question. “Maybe,” she says. “I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

“I haven’t decided if your presence is annoying or comforting yet.”

Alicia huffs. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Are you at least going to eat dinner with us?” Alicia asks. “Because you need to eat.”

“I’ll eat,” Al says defensively. “But shit, man, you’re not my mother. She’s long gone, and I don’t need someone else to nag me in her place, okay?”

“It’s just – you’re looking thinner.”

“Yeah, I don’t exactly have the most balanced diet anymore,” Al says. “And I’ve been kind of slacking on my workout routine. Most the weight I’ve lost has been in muscle.”

Alicia shakes her head and slips out of her jacket, tossing it up to the front of the van. She lies across her seats on her back, mimicking Al, and Alicia stops trying to carry a conversation. Alicia drifts off easily a short time later while Al lies awake and stares at the ceiling. Memories flash before her eyes. It feels real, almost like she’s living it even though the rational part of her brain knows she’s holed up in her van and Alicia’s snoring softly just a few feet away.

Luciana retrieves them for dinner. The back of the van opening pulls Al back into reality, and Alicia startles awake, instinctively reaching for a weapon that she doesn’t have. She stops as soon as she realizes what she’s doing, and Luciana just tells them it’s dinner time. They eat noodles around a campfire as the sun sets. A lot of the kids run around in circles, and Al doesn’t know how they don’t tire themselves out and pass out somewhere. It seems like these kids are constantly on the move, constantly making noise and getting themselves into trouble.

Al pokes at her noodles, every so often shoving a forkful in her mouth and forcing herself to chew and swallow it. Just so Alicia doesn’t stab her with her fork and bitch about how she’s not eating. Alicia, though, shovels forkful after forkful into her mouth and moans like it’s the best damn thing she’s ever tasted – like they’re not all basically eating plain-ass noodles.

“This tastes _so _good,” Alicia says, as if that’s going to make Al want to suddenly start wolfing down her plate of food. Alicia moans again, and an evil grin slowly spreads across Al’s face.

“Yeah,” Al says, “almost as good as you.”

Alicia’s face flushes a deep shade of red, and she’d smack Al over the head with her plate if it didn’t still have food on it. “Jesus Christ!” Alicia splutters. “There – there are _kids _around! And we’re all eating!”

Al laughs, shaking her head. She’s happy for an excuse to set her fork down. She leans closer to Alicia and says, “Look around, sweetheart. No one’s paying us any fucking attention. So cool it.”

Alicia’s face slowly returns to its normal pale shade, and she starts eating again, though she wears a disgruntled look on her face now. “That’s gross,” she finally mumbles.

“Maybe it’s gross, but it’s true,” Al replies. Alicia nearly chokes, and Al laughs again. This time, June looks their way, but she’s seated across from the campfire. June just smiles, probably assuming they’re over here having a good time and _not_ talking about that one time they fucked when they were both incredibly drunk. Especially since there are a bunch of kids running around, possibly within earshot. But then again, the kids have never been overly interested in them or what they’ve got to say. It’s almost like they’ve gone back to being normal kids, playing tag and pretend and a whole bunch of other games.

Al reaches over and pushes the rest of her noodles onto Alicia’s plate with her fork then stands before Alicia can protest. She claps Alicia on the shoulder and sets her dishes in the collection bin. When Al glances back, she’s happy to see Alicia eating the noodles, even if she’s still got a sour look on her face. Al’s sure she’ll hear about this later, but at least Alicia will be full. Since there’s so many people now, they’re all forced to under-eat. Al’s not the only person in the caravan that’s losing weight. June’s face is looking thinner, and John’s got less of a belly on him now.

Al needs to get back into her workout routine, that’s for sure. She might as well start now. It’s not her night to secure the perimeter or be on watch, so she returns to the van and drops to the floor. She does as many pushups as her arms can handle then rolls over and starts sit ups. She’s just hitting one hundred as the back doors swing open.

“What kind of shit was that?” Alicia demands. “You need to eat, Al.”

“Can’t – talk,” Al breathes. She doesn’t let Alicia break her rhythm. “Kind of – busy.”

“And I thought we agreed we weren’t ever going to mention – _that_,” Alicia says. “And especially not around everyone else! Can you please stop with the sit ups and talk to me? Jesus.”

Al sits up one last time and swipes at the sweat beading on her forehead, setting her eyes on Alicia’s face. “What?” Al says, smirking. “Are you embarrassed about it?”

“Yes,” Alicia says bluntly.

Al scoffs. “Come on. You were drunk. I was drunk. We can hardly blame ourselves. It’s easy to get lonely out here, even surrounded by all these people.”

“I don’t care how you explain it away,” Alicia says, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t want you bringing it up while everyone else is around.”

“Was I wrong, though?” Al questions, quirking an eyebrow up at Alicia. “No one else was paying attention to us, were they? No one heard. No one cared.”

“That isn’t the point!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have done it then, since you’re so embarrassed by it. If I’m recalling correctly, you made the first move. You came onto me. But fine,” Al says. She shoves herself to her feet and pats her sweat dampened face with the bottom of her shirt. “I won’t bring it up again. Sorry.”

Al pulls the shirt over her head and flings it across the van before finding a shirt that actually belongs to her and slipping it on. Al’s not going to be able to sleep, but she acts like that’s exactly what she’s going to do. She lies down, turning her back to Alicia’s side of the van, and closes her eyes. But she can’t sleep. She’s afraid if she does, she’ll wake up screaming. Again.

Not that Alicia’s track record is perfect. More than once, she’s scared Al awake with her screams. So maybe Al shouldn’t be so worried about it. Maybe she should close her eyes and hope she screams in her sleep to get Alicia back for last time.

“It was a mistake,” Alicia says from across the aisle. Alicia’s voice cutting through the silence causes Al to jump a little, but she recovers from the shock quickly.

“I get it,” Al snaps, rubbing at the back of her neck. “We don’t have to keep talking about it, you know?”

“Well, you keep flirting –”

“I’ll stop, okay? Since it bothers you so much,” Al blurts. “Just shut up. God.”

Stunned silence follows, but Al keeps her back to Alicia. No matter what she does, she can’t win. The silence quickly becomes awkward, but if Al just acts like she’s sleeping, nothing will come of it. Except Al accidentally falls asleep. It’s actually more like Al’s body shuts down and forces her to rest, especially after the day she’s had.

Al wakes up disoriented. Someone’s shaking her shoulder, saying something she can barely focus on because her attention shifts to something else. The sound is faint, thanks to the van, but it’s nearby and very distinctive. Al bolts upright, jaw hanging open. She pushes her hand into her hair and holds it there, staring dumbly at the back of the van through the darkness. Surely she’s not hearing correctly –

“Al, did you hear me?” Alicia shouts, slapping her hand against Al’s shoulder. “Come on! We’re under attack!”

So that’s definitely screaming Al’s hearing.

“Okay,” Al says. “Okay, _shit_. Where’s my –”

Alicia drops Al’s trench spikes into her lap, and Al immediately seizes them. Her arms are bare, but whatever’s happening outside of the van is _bad_, and Al follows Alicia out the back without grabbing something to cover her exposed skin.

Sometimes Al forgets how dark it can get without artificial lighting. The campfires were put out long ago, and the only source of light comes from a few of the vehicles that have their headlights on. And Jesus, the dead are _everywhere_. Al’s boots hit the dirt, and she swings one of the trench spikes into the eye socket of a walker before she’s fully awake. She yanks the spike free before the walker hits the ground and whirls around, ready to take a swing with her other hand –

Alicia grabs Al’s wrist in her hand. Al hadn’t swung. Of course she hadn’t. She knew Alicia was there. Mostly. She just wasn’t sure if there was a walker – or if Alicia would defend herself if it got near her.

“You’re unarmed,” Al says. “Get back in the van.”

“No.”

“You’re of no use without a weapon,” Al spits. “You’re just one more person that’s going to die.”

“I’m not going to hide,” Alicia hisses. “Not while people are dying.”

“Then be useful,” Al replies. She shoves one of the trench spikes into Alicia’s hands, because she notices Strand’s got Alicia’s gun barrel in his hands. “Kill some of these fuckers before they kill us, yeah?”

Alicia doesn’t answer. She cradles the trench spike in her hands, staring down at it, leaving Al to make sure they aren’t eaten by walkers. Her arms are sore from her attempt to get back into her workout routine – a fucking stupid decision that she couldn’t possibly know would make her life harder – but Al keeps swinging. Walker after walker falls around her – and Alicia's still just staring at the weapon in her hands.

Al tries to mentally track the people that are helping to thin out the walkers. She spots John back-to-back with Strand. June’s over with Grace. Luciana is…filming from the top of one of the RVs. She’s turning into Al.

Al grunts after she has a particularly difficult time freeing her trench spike from a walker’s skull. The action of pulling the spike free splatters blood across Al’s face, but she just grits her teeth and kills another walker that Alicia really should have taken out, but she’s still not cooperating. She’s still following Morgan’s bullshit philosophy that got him literally blown to bits.

The screaming from earlier, oddly enough, has died off even though there are plenty of walkers left. Though Al’s mental inventory has located all of her friends, she’s also located many – too many – bodies. Bodies that don’t belong to walkers. She clears a path from the van over to one of the RVs and finds herself behind a walker that’s crouched over the body of one of the caravan members. Al feels bad that she can’t recall the guy’s name to save her life, but she kills the walker all the same and pulls the spike out of the back of its skull before it collapses onto its side.

The poor guy’s still alive even though his intestines have been pulled from his body. Al feels hands at her shoulder, and she flinches hard before she realizes it’s just Alicia and she’s not about to have a set of rotting teeth clamping down on her flesh.

“He’s alive,” Alicia murmurs.

“Do you have a gun?” Al asks.

“No. Why?”

Al sighs. “I wanted to do this the nice way.”

She kneels beside the guy, and though his eyes are hazy, Al thinks maybe this is what he wants. He won’t last much longer – and he shouldn’t have to suffer like this. She braces herself, adjusting her grip on the trench spike four different times before she apologizes to the poor dude and places her free hand on his forehead. He closes his eyes. Al does the rest. Al gets back to her feet, and Alicia clutches onto her shoulder again, digging her fingers into Al’s skin so hard, she’s probably going to leave bruises. In Alicia’s other hand is Al’s second trench spike, unused as of yet.

“There’s too many,” Alicia whispers. “We can’t kill them all. We need to leave.”

Al stares at Alicia in disbelief. She ducks out from beneath Alicia’s grasp, kills another incoming walker, then says, “_We _can’t kill them all? You aren’t even helping!”

“Morgan said –”

“Morgan is _dead_,” Al snaps. “We are still alive. Some of the people from the caravan are still alive. We owe it to them to try to keep it that way.”

A nearby shotgun blast from Wendell tears three walkers to shreds, and Sarah hoots from atop the hood of her rig. She’s got a beer in one hand and a gun in the other. Wendell pumps the shotgun.

“Where’s Charlie?” Alicia asks. “Have you seen her?”

“There are, like, a hundred kids around here,” Al replies. “I can’t tell any of them apart anymore.”

Al kills another walker. Then another. She couldn’t even guess at how many she’s killed by now. She doesn’t know how there are so many –

No, she knows. The more people that are around, the more noise you make, the more walkers you attract. Who knows how far these walkers have come from? And they’ve finally reached their meal. Al’s starting to think Morgan was the lucky one. If she had to choose between being blown up by a landmine and being ripped to shreds by a walker, it’s a no-brainer.

Al needs a break. She retreats to the van, Alicia on her heels, and disappears inside, chest heaving. Alicia grabs a bottle of water, and Al gulps it down. She isn’t sure if her face is coated in sweat or blood – probably both. Her hands are sticky with all sorts of bodily fluids from the dead. Same with her arms. The front of her shirt’s got the worst of it, though, and Al realizes she shouldn’t ever wear white.

“We have to go back out there,” Alicia insists.

“We?” Al questions. “You didn’t even do anything!”

“Our friends are dying.”

“And you’re standing around looking like a helpless child,” Al spits. “Step up, Alicia. Let Morgan’s stupid philosophies die with him.”

Alicia purses her lips. Her eyes search Al’s face, and Al doesn’t miss the way Alicia recoils. Al swipes at her cheek futilely. She doesn’t know if she wipes blood away or just smears more on her face.

Then Alicia does the unthinkable. She grabs a fistful of the front of Al’s shirt and pulls her forward. Al drops the trench spike in surprise, and it clangs to the floor of the van. Alicia kisses Al, messily, with no regard for the fact that Al’s covered in walker blood and this is godawful timing. Al only kisses back for, like, three seconds before she pushes Alicia away and grimaces.

“People are dying,” Al reminds. She scoops up the trench spike and holds her hand out for the second one. “If you’re going to stand by and watch, I’d like that back.”

“All I’ve done is kill things,” Alicia says quietly. “Since the world ended, I just kill.”

“That’s great,” Al says. “You’ve gotten really good at it. So either come do what you’re good at and save some lives, or give me the fucking spike and stay here.”

Alicia glares up at Al, but her hand closes around the grip of the trench spike. Alicia throws the doors open, and Al grins as Alicia steps into the night and brutally punches the first walker in sight square in the face. The spike destroys its brain, and Alicia kills another walker before the first one hits the ground.

“Watch my back,” Alicia calls over her shoulder.

“Only if you watch mine,” Al replies. Maybe if everything wasn’t currently so fucking horrible, they’d laugh. They stand side-by-side next to the van, and Al bangs the trench spike against the van to attract as many of the dead as possible. The more dead that have their eyes on Al and Alicia, the better.

“Watch for any that could crawl from under the van,” Alicia warns.

Al cracks her neck, stretches her arms in front of her, and grunts. “Let’s just finish this. We can talk after.”

Walker after walker falls until finally, it gets quiet. No more growling. No screaming. No more gunshots. There’s some hysterical crying, but the remaining survivors regroup at the van, where Al and Alicia stand amongst dozens of decaying corpses. They’re both splattered with blood. They’re both unbelievably exhausted. But the work isn’t done.

“Who secured the perimeter?” Al asks the second June approaches. With Morgan gone, Al’s not really sure who’s in command anymore. June’s probably got the most useful skill, but she can’t lead for shit. If no one else is going to take charge –

“Wyatt was on the perimeter,” Alicia informs. “But Christopher and Hailey were supposed to be on watch.”

“And where are Christopher and Hailey?” Al demands. “How did this fucking happen? How were we so unprepared?”

Alicia shakes her head, and June just stares grimly at Al. Al raises her eyebrows and waits for June to say whatever the fuck she’s thinking, but it takes her a long-ass time to speak.

“We aren’t done yet,” June says. Al’s eyes flick away from June, over to where Luciana has climbed off the RV. She still has the camera in her hands. She’s still rolling. Al looks back to June as June says, “We need to account for our dead. Treat those that need to be taken care of. And then we need to move.”

“I agree,” Alicia says. She grabs onto Al’s wrist, and their eyes lock. Al merely nods.

“I could use another shower,” Al says. She exhales heavily. “So we need to inspect every corpse?”

June nod. “Every single one.”

“I barely know people’s names,” Al admits.

“Someone will know,” June assures her. “We have a list of everyone. We’ll check everyone off. I’ll need to examine everyone for bites. We’ll start with the dead, prevent reanimations, then track the living.”

Frankly, dealing with the dead is the easy part. The walkers are easy to spot and ignore. The caravan’s dead are much fresher, much more gruesome sights than the walkers. The total count, out of a caravan of thirty-six people, is ten dead on the spot. June has a clipboard in her hands, and she writes beside each name of someone who’s already dead: _DOA_. Like it matters. She could’ve just scratched their name out, honestly. Each fresh corpse gets its brain destroyed, one way or another.

“Who’s he?” Al asks, motioning toward the body of the man she put down – the man with his intestines still hanging out.

“Jeff Jacobsen,” June answers immediately. “He was an accountant.”

“And he survived this long?” Al blurts out. She deserves the scowl June sends her way but shrugs. “Sorry.”

“Help me round everyone up,” June says. She gets everyone around the van once more. Everyone’s on edge. They all know what comes next. John and Strand flank June, and she passes the clipboard off to Sarah. “If anyone that’s been bitten would like to step forward, now’s the time,” June calls out. Al crosses her arms over her chest, trench spike still in hand. She doesn’t expect anyone to turn themselves in, even though every single person here knows a bite is a death sentence, whether you step forward or not.

Someone does step forward, though. The first person to step up is Grace. Al watches all the color leave June’s face, and she wonders if they’re friends and she just didn’t take the time to notice. After Grace steps up, two more people follow. But that’s it. Honestly, the two people that follow Grace’s lead have obvious bites. One has a chunk of his shoulder torn out, and the other’s missing part of her forearm.

“Would anyone like to volunteer?” June manages to ask. She waves Grace and the two bitten people to the side. Grace stands tall.

“Yeah,” Al says. “I’ll go first.”

“Good,” June says faintly. “I’ll need some hands. Other volunteers?”

Alicia throws her name in there, and John and Strand are next. One by one, June takes them into the van and searches for bites, but she clears all four of them. Luciana, Wendell, Sarah, and Charlie are the next to be cleared. Al and Alicia man the back doors and deal with the people June sends out, sorting them into clear or not clear areas. They end up with a total of eight bitten people.

It’s too dangerous to wait until they die of the infection. They all decided that when they joined the caravan at the beginning. They all agreed to the conditions. June emerges from the van, and her hands tremble. She looks first to John, then to Al.

“Both Christopher and Hailey are already dead,” June says. “So we won’t get answers on the breach. And Morgan was the one who dealt with – he’s the one who handled the infected people. We don’t have – we haven’t appointed someone new.”

John and Al exchange a glance. Al figures it’s between the two of them. And based on the look on June’s face, Al can tell June doesn’t want it to be John.

“I’ll do it,” Al offers, sparing John. She holds her hand out. “Give me the gun.”

“That’ll make too much noise,” John points out. “We don’t need a round two. We’ve already suffered heavy losses.”

Al presses her lips together. “You want me to do this – how, exactly? With this?” She holds up the trench spike, and her eyebrows shoot toward her hairline when John nods. “You’re kidding,” Al says.

“It’s safer,” John replies.

“You were shooting your goddamn revolvers –”

“While we were in an active fight,” John says. “And now it’s quieter than death out here.”

“If there are more, they’re already on their way,” Alicia says. “I think we should do it quickly and move to a new spot.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Luciana argues. “Where are we going to go?”

“Anywhere,” Alicia says. “We can’t just stay.”

“We have to bury our dead,” Charlie says. “That’s what we do.”

“Give me the gun,” Al insists, holding her hand out to June. “Come on. The one at your hip. Give it here.”

Alicia reaches over and yanks it free before June can react. Al immediately brings her hand in front of Alicia, but Alicia hesitates, clutching the gun against her chest.

“I can do it,” Alicia says.

“Alicia, no,” Al says. She makes a grab for the gun, but Alicia’s faster and pulls it out of her reach. “No offense, but I can handle this better than you can.”

Alicia blinks. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to do something like this,” she says calmly. “I can take care of it.”

“Let her,” Luciana says.

“Give me that,” Al snarls. She snatches the camera away from Luciana and shuts it off. She resists the urge to literally throw it into the van, carrying it inside instead and locking it in her safe. Now isn’t the time for footage. Not when eight people are about to be put down. Al turns back to Alicia, moves into her space, tilting her head down and saying almost directly into Alicia’s ear, “Are you sure about this?”

“Positive,” Alicia murmurs. She grasps onto Al’s bicep reassuringly and nods to herself. “I’ve got it.”

Alicia steps around Al and leads the eight people behind the RV. It takes less than two minutes. When Alicia returns, the gun hanging from her fingertips, there are only eighteen people left alive. Half of the caravan is dead.

“We don’t have the energy to dig graves,” Strand says. “We’re looking at a mass cremation.”

“Get started,” Al commands. “Any sign of more walkers, and we all pack it up and leave. No matter what. Got it?”

No one argues. They get to work at separating the bodies. Walkers are dumped into a massive pile, and the rest are carefully handled. Alicia takes a seat on the top step of the van, the gun in her hands, and she just watches everyone else work. Al starts the walker fire and slips away to join Alicia, taking a seat beside her.

“You okay?” Al asks.

Alicia smiles. “No. Not at all. But thanks for checking.”

“Don’t throw my words back at me.”

Alicia reaches over and grasps onto Al’s hand. Al intertwines their fingers, and Alicia holds on tighter. Al watches the fire burn the walkers into ash, then she pulls Alicia to her feet and leads her to Grace’s truck. Alicia doesn’t say anything until Al starts up the shower and begins stripping down.

“What are you doing?” Alicia asks warily.

“Showering,” Al replies. “Since I’m once again covered in blood and guts. You’re covered in it, too, so I’d suggest seizing the opportunity to get clean.”

Alicia balks. “With you?”

Al smirks, but it slides away quickly. “If half of the caravan hadn’t just died, maybe I’d make some smartass comment. We’ve seen each other naked – hell, we’re past that. So hurry up.”

Al steps beneath the water, which is borderline icy, but Al doesn’t mind. It helps her focus. She rinses the blood from her hands, arms, face, and neck. She thoroughly washes out her hair again, just in case. She fully showers before Alicia even undresses. Alicia holds a towel out when Al backs out of the shower, and Al dries off quickly. She finds clothes in Grace’s truck while Alicia finishes up her shower. Al stays on alert, listening for any sign of walkers, but nothing comes.

They return to the group, freshly showered, and June gives the go ahead. They empty out a few of the vehicles they no longer have a need for and move out. They drive nearly thirty miles before settling in a field. Sunrise is still a few hours out, and Al’s more than exhausted. She only manages to stay awake because Alicia periodically reaches over and jabs Al in her sore bicep. Al hauls herself out of the driver’s seat into the back and passes out before Alicia has her seatbelt undone.

Al wakes up not too much later to another suspicious sound, but this is much closer than the screaming from earlier had been. Al’s eyes pop open, and she immediately seeks out the source of the sound, narrowing it to the other side of the van. It’s Alicia, trying and failing to muffle her sobs with the sleeve of her jacket.

“Alicia,” Al mumbles. She mildly startles Alicia, but Alicia stops trying to suppress her crying. Al waves her hand. “C’mere.”

Alicia practically has to lie on top of Al for both of them to fit on the seats. Once Al’s arm is around Alicia, though, Alicia begins to calm down. Alicia’s head rests on Al’s chest, and Al is mostly back to sleep when Alicia speaks.

“Sorry.”

Al grunts. Now that she’s pretty sure she’s going to be up for a bit, the ache settles back into her muscles. Her entire body, really. She’s going to need a couple of days to recover, and she doesn’t think that’s time they have. Not after last night. Not when the caravan has been cut in half and left with little leadership since Morgan was blown up.

“It’s okay,” Al finally says. “We can talk about it. If you want.”

“No,” Alicia says. “It’s – we don’t have to talk.”

“Okay,” Al agrees.

There’s a pause. “That’s it?” Alicia questions. “You aren’t going to push me to talk about it?”

“Why would I?” Al asks. “We all have shit we don’t talk about.”

“I think some of us have more shit than others,” Alicia says.

Al exhales. “Yeah.”

“I’m just tired,” Alicia admits. “Tired of…this. Of living like this. I’m tired of searching for a new purpose, finding it, then having it yanked away.”

“I know.”

“I just want to forget about everything,” Alicia says. Her palm presses against Al’s hipbone, fingers pushing beneath the material of Al’s shirt. Alicia’s fingers splay out on warm, bare skin, and Al inhales sharply.

“What are you saying?”

“There’s too much to say,” Alicia replies.

“I could use a drink.”

“You don’t need a drink.”

“I don’t need one,” Al agrees. “But I could use one.”

She winces as her muscles protest her decision to do anything more than just lie on her back. She shifts so Alicia’s beneath her, propping herself up on her forearms in spite of her sore, well, everything.

“I was drunk last time,” Alicia reminds. She’s already pulling at Al’s shirt.

“So was I.”

“It was a mistake,” Alicia says. She drops Al’s shirt to the floor, slides her hands up Al’s bare torso.

“It was.”

Al stares down into Alicia’s green eyes, and Alicia just stares back, a gentle smirk on her face. “We can’t write this off as a mistake,” Alicia breathes. “We’re both sober. We’re making a deliberate choice.”

“You could argue we’re emotionally damaged,” Al muses. “It’s been a rough night. Our judgment is clouded.”

Alicia grins. “Or we could say our adrenaline’s still pumping after a massive fight.”

“Every muscle in my body hurts,” Al says. “So the longer you talk, the longer I have to support myself up here –”

“I can fix sore muscles.”

Al shakes her head and manages to undo Alicia’s belt. “No, I’d feel too bad to make you go first.”

Alicia snorts. “Because I woke you up with my crying?”

“Something like that.”

Al ducks down, but Alicia quickly shoves her hands between them, pushing at Al’s chest to keep her back. Before Al can ask her what her deal is, Alicia blurts, “I don’t think we kissed last time!”

Al’s eyebrows pull together. “You kissed me earlier today.”

“Yeah, but we weren’t about to fuck! I thought we were about to die.”

Al stares at Alicia like she’s lost it. “You better fucking kiss me.”

“Okay, I’m just –”

“Nervous?”

Alicia glares. “No!”

“Then no more excuses.”

Al lowers herself back down, hissing as her muscles strain, and she makes sure to give Alicia plenty of time to back out. Alicia pushes both of her hands into Al’s hair and drags her the rest of the way down. It’s nice to be able to kiss Alicia while they’re both totally sober and totally clean. Not one trace of walker blood on either of them.

Alicia tears away to murmur something like, “Too many clothes,” which is something Al can fix. There are a lot of things Al _can’t _fix, but it’s easy to slide out of her pants and drop them to the floor of the van. It’s easy to grasp onto the front of Alicia’s shirt and literally tear it open, buttons be damned. There are more shirts.

Al only has vague memories from that night when they were drunk. There was lots of giggling, mostly from Alicia. Al is not a giggler, sober or drunk. More than anything, Al remembers waking up with a sore jaw and suspicious scratches all up her back that would earn her a stern lecture from June if she ever laid eyes on it.

Ironically, Al doesn’t actually remember how Alicia tastes despite her remark at dinner, but Alicia doesn’t need to know that. Al will remember this time, and many more inappropriate comments will follow. Even though there are large gaps in Al’s memory – gaps she’s sure Alicia shares to some degree – Alicia’s body still feels familiar. Al guesses she’s learned something about Alicia from last time, because she gets Alicia to come within _minutes_. Alicia uses her fistful of Al’s hair to push Al away, nearly shoving her right off the seats, and Al only barely manages to catch herself, complaining the whole time.

“Shut up,” Alicia breathes. “Just shut up.”

Al smirks. “You know, you really shouldn’t be so loud. Someone might come to check on us –”

Alicia pushes herself up and clamps her hand over Al’s mouth. “I told you to shut up,” Alicia says.

Al pries Alicia’s hand off of her and grins. “You’re gonna have to make me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have this thing for posting one-shots then turning them into full blown stories, but I'm really hoping this stays as a one-shot. I'm also hoping I'll be able to add more to this new series as the season progresses (and even maybe write some things set earlier in the season as well). I have talked about an Al/Isabelle project, and I am still working on (struggling with) it. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts, and I'll respond as quickly as possible!


End file.
